Fever
by Alipeeps
Summary: Written for the Sheppard HC LJ Fever challenge. Sheppard has a fever.. a short fic composed of short chapterettes, each from a different POV. Now complete.
1. John

_Written for the Fever challenge on the Sheppard HC LJ, this is a little ficcie that is gonna take the form of short chapterettes, each one from a different POV. We're starting with John. Next POV to follow very shortly._

_All feedback gratefully received.

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Sheppard first suspects something is wrong during an interminable-seeming staff meeting. True, he finds these meetings pretty dull at the best of times and struggles to stay focused on the discussion at hand. But this is different. He is pretty sure he's actually zoned out completely a couple of times because he keeps tuning back in to the conversation and finding it in a completely different place than he recalled. He's starting to find it difficult to keep his eyes open, the constant drone of voices and the warmth of the room lulling him into drowsiness.

He'd woken up feeling out of sorts that morning, his body feeling sluggish and tired, lacking his usual energy and vitality. He'd even forgone his morning run, choosing instead to take a long shower, leaning against the cool wall for a long time, letting the hot water pound against his skin. He'd turned the water to cold for a minute before exiting the shower, hoping the shocking chill would wake him up. He'd emerged shivering from the shower stall, his flesh tingling but his head still feeling stuffy and slow. He's beginning to wonder now if he's starting to come down with something. John grimaces. He hates being ill.

He fights to keep his concentration up, beginning to feel that the room is too warm, too stifling, and hopes that his abstraction is not too obvious to the rest of the meeting. He looks up to find Elizabeth's eyes on him at one point, her brow creased slightly, and wonders if she's noticed his lethargy. By the time the meeting wraps up he is feeling pretty damn awful, tired and hot and a little dizzy, and wants nothing more than to head back to his room and crash for a while. His afternoon is clear other than a scheduled equipment stock-take and that can wait. He figures he'll sleep whatever this is off and probably feel a whole lot better when he wakes. He lets the rest of the room clear before rising from his seat and is surprised to find it quite an effort to do so, his legs feeling ridiculously shaky under him. He levers himself slowly to his feet, his palms flat on the conference table bearing much of his weight as he leans forward heavily. His vision spins for a moment as he looks up, clearing to reveal Elizabeth standing in the doorway, watching him closely. Busted.

"John? Are you alright?" She steps forward, an expression of concern on her face.

He tries for a grin, pretty sure he isn't fooling her for a second, and tries to head off her concern. "I'm fine. Just feeling kinda tired."

Her frown tells him she isn't buying. "Are you sure? You don't look too.."

"I didn't sleep too great last night, " he lies quickly, cutting her off. He steels himself to take a shaky step and then another, locking his knees in place by dint of sheer willpower. All he wants to do right now is sleep. If he could just get as far as his quarters, then he could sleep. Elizabeth steps aside, frowning, as he moves carefully past her, his muscles tense with the effort of feigning nonchalance.

"I'm just gonna hit the sack for a coupla hours.. I'll be right as rain." He speaks over his shoulder, not waiting for a response as he heads for the transporter, wanting nothing more than to get to his quarters and fall into bed before his legs give out on him. He knows without looking back that she's following behind him.

He wobbles for a moment as his visions swims unexpectedly, his steps faltering as his balance deserts him. He slaps a steadying hand against the wall, breathing heavily. When did it get so hot in here?

"John.." Her voice is stern now, moving past concern and edging towards exasperation.

"I'm good." Was that his voice? Did he usually sound that shaky? He pushes himself off the wall. Bed. Get to my quarters and get to bed. That's all he wants. He dredges up a reserve of energy from god knows where and strides off determinedly, focused on his goal. His almost to the transporter when, without warning, his head spins dizzily. He staggers to a halt, swaying for a moment, darkness crowding in at the edge of his vision. His head feels hot and stuffy and his limbs are trembling. The last thing he hears as his legs give way is Elizabeth's voice.

_"John!"_

The darkness swallows him.


	2. Elizabeth

Elizabeth could tell during the meeting that something was up. John had seemed distant, less focused even than was usual in these meetings that she knew he found deadly boring. His attention had been elsewhere for most of the meeting and he'd looked slightly flushed, maybe a little glassy-eyed. She'd wondered if he was coming down with something. She'd started to worry in earnest when she caught him seemingly struggling to get to his feet after the meeting but, true to form, he'd brushed off her concern, insisting that he was fine and just needed a bit more sleep. Distrustful of his explanation, she'd followed behind him as he'd headed for the transporter, catching up in time to see him stumble, flinging out a hand to catch himself on the wall. She'd been about to call Carson right there and then but suddenly he'd righted himself, seeming to shake off the dizzy moment, and strode away, heading for his quarters.

Unable to shake the feeling that something is wrong, she follows after him and sees him suddenly stagger, swaying momentarily, and, before she can even reach out to him, he drops; simply collapses on the spot like a puppet whose strings have been cut, landing on the floor in a boneless tangle of limbs. It happens so suddenly, so swiftly, that it's all she can do to call out his name in shock and for a moment she is frozen in place, time seeming to stand still. Then the world starts spinning again and she rushes forward, dropping to her knees beside his still form, her heart beating loudly in her ears as she fumbles for a pulse.

"My god.."

She jerks her fingers away reflexively as they brush his skin; he's burning up, heat radiating off him. Biting her lip, she presses her fingers to the hot skin of his neck and is relieved to find a pulse, beating rapidly beneath her fingertips. She taps her radio earpiece.

"Carson!"

There's a short pause, and she's suddenly aware that she's breathing heavily, and then Dr Beckett's voice crackles in her ear.

"Yes, Dr Weir? What can I do for you?"

"I need you at the transporter near the conference room," her words are clipped, precise and to the point. "Bring a gurney; Colonel Sheppard just collapsed."

She hears a muffled curse and for a moment she is ignored as Beckett calls out instructions to his staff. The sound brings her back to herself with a jolt, reminding her of her responsibility to everyone else on the base. She looks up from the prone form of her military commander and finds a row of concerned faces peering out at them from the control room. She taps her radio again.

"This is Dr Weir. Major Lorne to the Control Room, please."

"Elizabeth?"

"Yes, Carson?"

"I'm on my way to you now. What are the Colonel's symptoms?"

She turns her attention back to the unconscious Colonel. He looks almost peaceful, his face relaxed as if asleep. His skin is flushed, the hair at his temples damp.

"He has a temperature. He seemed to be feeling ill during the staff meeting and had trouble standing unaided. He said he didn't sleep well last night."

"Alright lass, you say he collapsed? What precisely happened?"

She sighs, the memory of Sheppard's sudden collapse still fresh and vivid in her memory. "He just fell, Carson. He just stopped walking, swayed a bit and the next thing I knew he was on the floor!"

A flash of light from the nearby transporter draws her attention. Seconds later the doors slide open and Carson steps out, his eyes dropping immediately to where Colonel Sheppard lies crumpled on the floor. He kneels swiftly beside her, muttering that the gurney is on its way, and is immediately focused on his patient as she sits back on her heels, giving him room to work. She is mesmerised as she watches Carson feel for a pulse, pull back John's eyelids to check pupil reactions. Sheppard doesn't move, doesn't react in any way. He is utterly, utterly still.

She shivers as her mind replays his collapse in slow motion, glorious Technicolor. One minute he was walking away from her, the next minute lying motionless on the floor.

There's a clatter of wheels as the gurney arrives and suddenly the corridor is full of chaos and motion, Carson issuing instructions to his team as they collapse the gurney down next to the Colonel. Firm hands are on her arm, nudging her to her feet, drawing her back from the commotion.

"One, two, three, _lift_! Careful now.." Sheppard is utterly limp as they place him carefully onto the gurney, his limbs swinging loosely. She watches helplessly as a nurse lifts his dangling arms into place and a strap is pulled tight across his abdomen, holding his arms to his body.

"Dr Weir?" She jumps a little as Major Lorne walks across from the control room. He assesses the situation with a quick look, taking in the gurney and its occupant, and he turns his gaze to her questioningly. It's a welcome distraction, the need to take control, to stay on top of things.

"Major Lorne. Colonel Sheppard is indisposed, I need you to fill in for him." Her voice sounds stronger than she would have expected it to.

Lorne simply nods, the epitome of the efficient soldier.

"We have two teams off-world, due to report in today. Can I leave things in your care?"

"Yes, ma'am." With a last look at his unconscious CO, he turns on his heel and heads back to the Control Room and she's pleased to see an immediate reduction in the amount of onlookers as Lorne takes charge, the on-duty techs returning to their consoles. The gurney rattles as Beckett's team lock the legs in place.

"Carson?"

The Scot is all business, fussing over his patient as his team start the gurney moving. "He has a fever, love. I need to get him to the infirmary and start treatment to lower his temperature." He gives her a reassuring smile and then is gone, following the gurney towards the infirmary.

Elizabeth is left standing alone, the silence suddenly loud after the chaos of the last few minutes. She looks at her watch. 7 minutes. It seemed like a lifetime. She takes a last look around her and follows in Carson's wake, heading for the infirmary.


	3. Carson

Beckett's team are careful, their movements precise and coordinated as they unstrap Sheppard from the gurney and carefully lift him across to an infirmary bed, allowing Carson to begin to properly assess his patient. John is still out cold, his skin flushed, his limbs relaxed and toneless. His head lolls to the side on the starched white pillow, sweat dampening the tousled hair at his temples. Carson snaps a sterile tip onto the digital thermometer and waits impatiently for the results. There's a beep and he brings the instrument to his face, a frown on his face as he studies the readout. 103. He mutters to himself as pulls out his pen flashlight and carefully lifts Sheppard's lids, flashing the light back and forth to check for pupil reactions. Where on earth did the Colonel pick up this fever? He hasn't been off-world in the past few days and no-one else in his team is sick.

Even as he examines his patient, Carson's mind throws out possible diagnoses, considering or discarding them one by one. Injury. Bacterial infection. Virus. Poison. Parasite. Drug reaction. Inflammatory reaction. Metabolic failure. This fever had come from nowhere but it had to be caused by something; it was a symptom of an underlying condition. Without identifying and treating the underlying cause, all Carson can do is manage the fever, try to reduce Sheppard's body temperature and wait for his body to fight off whatever was causing the fever. That is simply not an acceptable option in Dr Beckett's view.

A nurse quickly draws several vials of blood and rushes them to the labs for testing and, with the help of his team, Carson begins a thorough visual check of his patient, looking for bites, scratches, an infection site, a rash; anything that could explain why the Colonel has suddenly developed a debilitating fever. A nurse unfastens the thigh straps and carefully removes Sheppard's ever-present holster as two of Carson's team help him lift the Colonel's torso from the bed long enough to strip him of his shirt. Sheppard is dead weight, his body utterly limp and relaxed in their grip, and he's heavier than his slim form would suggest. His skin is slick with sweat and Carson struggles to keep a grip on him as they lay him carefully back down on the bed. There's no sign of any injury or mark on the Colonel's torso or, when they carefully roll him, anywhere on his back. Carson decides against cutting through Sheppard's pants to remove them; the man goes through enough uniforms as it is and Beckett knows he'd be less than thrilled to find another pair ruined. So they do it the hard way, unlacing the standard-issue boots and lifting together to raise the Colonel's hips enough that a nurse can slide the waistband down, pulling the pants down his legs and over his feet.

It's Carson who spots it. It's small enough that he almost missed it. On the back of Sheppard's right calf, just above the level of his boots, there is a tiny, thin scratch. It looks like nothing and Sheppard had probably dismissed it as such, if he'd even noticed it. But when Carson looks closer he finds the skin around the cut is slightly discoloured and erythematous. He runs his fingers over the tiny injury and finds the flesh tight and hot. Sheppard's muscular calf has masked the swelling but the feeling of pressure under the skin is unmistakable. It's definitely infected. Carson allows himself a small smile; he's found his culprit. He begins issuing orders to his team.

"Christophe, can you get a swab from this please and get it to the labs? Jenny, lets start the Colonel on IV fluids for dehydration, broad spectrum antibiotics to fight the infection and we'll want an NSAID to reduce his temperature." He scribbles his prescription on Sheppard's chart in a messy doctor's scrawl and hands it to the nurse. "Quick as you can please.."

They've gotten the Colonel into a gown and pulled the blankets up over his bare legs when a sudden shiver, a tremor that ripples through his entire body, marks the beginning of Sheppard's return to consciousness. He begins to shift restlessly on the bed, not awake but no longer unconscious, and the nurse struggles to start an IV as Sheppard's arm twitches and moves. Carson leans over, holding the Colonel's wrist in a firm grip, keeping his arm still as the nurse smoothly and efficiently slips the needle under the skin, checking that the port is patent before connecting the IV and carefully taping everything securely in place. Carson watches as Sheppard's eyelids flutter but he doesn't wake. His shivering has intensified now, sweat beading on the flushed skin of his forehead. Carson gently touches the back of his hand to the Colonel's brow, testing temperature the old-fashioned way. Heat radiates from Sheppard's skin, his forehead damp and hot to Carson's touch. The doctor frowns. At the very least, it looks like Colonel Sheppard is in for a couple of rather uncomfortable days.

They've done all they can for the Colonel right now, starting him on treatment to help combat his symptoms whilst his body fights off the infection. They'll know more about the nature of that infection once they get back his blood work and the results of the wound swab. Carson steps back from the bed, happy that his staff have carried out his orders well and that the Colonel is in good hands.

In the meantime, Carson knows he is needed elsewhere. He strips off his sterile gloves and drops them in a nearby disposal unit, heading for the doors that lead from the infirmary into what has become an informal waiting room. True to his expectations, the doors slide open to reveal Elizabeth, Ronon, Teyla and Rodney all hovering anxiously.

He gives them a reassuring smile as they gather around him.

"The Colonel has a wee bit of a fever," he begins.


	4. Rodney

Rodney regards Dr Beckett with a mixture of disbelief and barely-concealed impatience as the doctor questions he, Teyla and Ronon about whether they had noticed Colonel Sheppard _scratch his leg on anything_ over the past few days.

He can't hold back the scorn from his voice as he replies, caustically, "Surprisingly enough, Carson, we don't supervise the Colonel's every move – how the hell are we supposed to know how he got a tiny scratch on his leg? He could have gotten it at any time and anywhere!"

Teyla, as usual, plays mediator and Rodney is not blind to the look of gratitude Beckett shoots her as she intercedes.

"I am sure Dr Beckett is aware of that, Rodney. Perhaps he means to ask if we have been in any situation recently where the Colonel may have gained such an injury, or if the Colonel has mentioned such a wound to any of us?" She directs her comments as much to Beckett as to himself, her expression inviting his confirmation, and Carson nods gratefully.

Rodney sighs heavily. Patience is not his strong suit at the best of times – and the best of times does not include hanging around outside the infirmary, having been summarily informed that Colonel Sheppard has suddenly collapsed, being questioned about trivialities while the Colonel lies in god knows what condition with only Carson's team of voodoo practitioners to look after him. Rodney hates not knowing what's going on. Being out of the information loop makes Rodney anxious and anxiety makes him snappy. He wants to see the Colonel, to see for himself what is going on.

"Do you realise who you are talking about, Carson?" he demands, his tone deliberately patronising. "This is Colonel Sheppard; the man who would tell you he was "good" if his leg was falling off. What makes you think he would mention a _scratch_ to anyone? We've been in a thousand situations where he could have cut himself on something – he could have done it on something here on Atlantis for all we know – but the chances that he would hop around shouting "Ow " over a scratch are slim to non-existent!"

"I'm aware of that, Rodney." Carson's voice is tinged with exasperation, and no small amount of his own brand of sarcasm. "I 'm just trying to ascertain if any of you noticed anything, that's all. I know it's unlikely but I've got to examine every avenue here."

Beckett gives them a look that speaks volumes. "I've a much better chance of treating this fever if I know precisely what infection is causing it."

That serious look on Beckett's face gives Rodney pause, dispelling his growing disdain in an instant. Instead he feels the beginnings of panic fluttering in his stomach. "Wait a minute.. I mean, how serious is this?" His voice cracks a little and he juts his chin defiantly, daring anyone to comment. "You said it was just a wee.. I mean, a little fever!"

He detests the compassion on Beckett's face, resents being humoured or treated as if he's going to panic over the slightest damn thing. Just because he's not.. not stoic like Ronon or eternally calm like Teyla.

"Aye Rodney, but a fever can have some serious consequences if it goes on too long or if we can't bring his temperature down."

"Oh." He can't find anything else to say.

"We've drawn some bloods and taken a swab of the infection site. Hopefully the results will tell us more."

He can tell Carson is winding up his explanations, preparing to dismiss them with his standard promises to let them know if anything changes. He interrupts.

"Can we see him?"

Carson frowns. "There's not much to see, Rodney. He's not really awake as such.." His voice trails off as he looks round at the expectant faces, the beginnings of a rueful smile on his face as he relents.

"Alright then, just for a few minutes."

They all file into the infirmary in an orderly fashion and Rodney wonders if the others are as impatient and as nervous as he. He quickens his pace and makes sure he's at the front of the small crowd as they reach Sheppard's bed.

Carson was right. He's not really awake. But he's not really asleep either. The Colonel is shivering despite the blankets pulled up to his chest. His head tosses and turns on the sweat-soaked pillow, his limbs twitch and jerk as he moves restlessly. He sighs and moans quietly, his lips moving almost soundlessly as he mumbles half-formed words under his breath. A frown creases his forehead. Awake or not, Colonel Sheppard looks distinctly uncomfortable. Rodney's heart sinks. He looks around at the faces of his team-mates arrayed around the bed and sees his own concerns mirrored in their expressions.

This "wee fever" doesn't look good at all.


	5. Teyla

It is Teyla who is sitting by Colonel Sheppard's bed when he finally awakens.

Hours have passed since Dr Beckett explained the Colonel's illness to them. Carson won't allow too many people to clutter up his infirmary so the members of Sheppard's team have fallen into a kind of unofficial rota, taking it in turns to sit with the Colonel. Rodney had taken the first shift by virtue of installing himself in a seat by the Colonel's bed and refusing to leave. He'd given up his turn reluctantly, only conceding defeat when Ronon had loomed over him menacingly, not saying a word, but the expression on his face speaking volumes.

As it turned out, Ronon hadn't stayed long; it was not in his nature to wait patiently. Sitting around with nothing to do made him restless. He had been pacing beside the bed when Teyla had entered the infirmary and the look on Carson's face had made it clear he'd about reached the end of his tether with the fidgeting Satedan.

Dr Beckett has been an almost constant presence during the hours since Sheppard's collapse, dividing his time between the Colonel's bedside, where he checks vitals and monitors Sheppard's progress, and his desk at the far end of the room where he pores over test results, discussing prognoses and treatments options with his team. He is seated at his desk, his face a frown of concentration, when Colonel Sheppard's eyes flutter and open.

"Dr Beckett?" Teyla keeps her voice low, not wishing to startle the sleepy Colonel, but Carson's head jerks up immediately and he hurries over to join them.

Sheppard is still restless and shivering, his skin bathed in a hot sweat that plasters his hair to his forehead. His eyes are open but they are glassy, unfocused; he seems to look right through Teyla.

"Colonel Sheppard?" Carson's voice is gentle, soothing. "Are you with us, son?"

Sheppard's head turns towards the sound but he is sluggish, confused, his gaze sliding past Dr Beckett vacantly.

"Colonel?" Carson's tone is sharper now, demanding. "Do you know where you are, Colonel?"

Sheppard flinches, startled by the voice, and he blinks owlishly.

"M'cold.." he mumbles quietly. His voice is dry, little more than a cracked whisper

"I know, son. You're in the infirmary. You have a fever"

Sheppard frowns and Teyla cannot discern if he is in pain or perhaps struggling to concentrate. She looks questioningly at Carson and finds a matching frown on the doctor's face. Sheppard shivers again and closes his eyes, turning his head away from Dr Beckett.

"Colonel Sheppard," Carson continues to push. "This is important, son. I need to know if you remember hurting your leg? You've a wee scratch on your right leg, Colonel. Do you know how you got it?"

Sheppard mumbles something under his breath but his eyes remain closed and he rolls onto his side, curling his body into itself, hugging himself against the shivering. Carson sighs in defeat, an expression of resignation on his face.

Teyla watches the Colonel as he shivers restlessly. His frown deepens as his muscles tense against the tremors. She leans forward and takes his hand, having to worm her small fingers into his tightly clenched fist. His eyelids flutter and he sighs.

"Colonel Sheppard? It is Teyla." His eyes open slowly and this time he seems to look right at her. He is curled up in the infirmary bed, facing towards her, the sheets tangled around his body, his face flushed and damp with sweat. His eyes look huge in his face, still glassy and struggling to focus. He breathes out softly, a sigh of air so quiet that only she is close enough to hear the whispered word, "Teyla.."

"Yes, Colonel." She smiles in genuine pleasure at his recognition. "I am here."

His lips curve in the smallest of smiles. His eyes are fixed on hers now.

A shiver runs through him and his smile is gone, replaced once more by the crease of a frown across his forehead. His grip tightens around her hand. She looks up at Carson in consternation.

"Dr Beckett? He seems to be in some pain?"

Carson checks the various machines that surround the Colonel's bed, moving around to crouch beside Teyla, reaching across her extended arm to hold Sheppard's eyelids open whilst he shines his pen flashlight into his eyes. The Colonel barely reacts to the bright light, his eyes staying locked on hers. His breathing is quiet but rapid.

"His heart rate is elevated but that's quite common with a fever," Carson muses. He leans forward, trying to catch the Colonel's drowsy attention. "Colonel Sheppard? Are you in any pain, son?"

Sheppard mumbles something intelligible but Teyla could almost swear she hears the words "I'm good" in there somewhere. Carson obviously thinks likewise as he straightens up with a sigh of exasperation.

"You'll be turning me prematurely grey, lad," he chides the semi-conscious Colonel with rueful good-nature. He takes a moment to scribble something on Sheppard's chart and, with a gentle smile for Teyla, leaves.

Colonel Sheppard is still clutching her hand, his eyelids drooping over clouded hazel eyes.

"Colonel Sheppard?" His eyes are fluttering closed now, his breath hitching as another shiver runs through him.

"John?" He smiles sleepily and his eyes open again, seeking out her face.

"John, do you remember how you scratched your leg?" He frowns, confusion apparent on his face.

"A small scratch, John, on your right leg. A minor thing, barely felt. Do you remember at all?"

His eyelids slip closed again and for a moment she thinks he is gone, sinking back into unconsciousness, but then his lips move and she has to lean close to hear the mumbled words, his breath a whisper against her cheek.

"Caught my pants on something. Ruins. PM4-77G."

She leans back with a smile. "Thank you, John."

His eyes open for a moment, bright and glassy in his fever-drawn face, and he flashes her a smile that is classic John Sheppard, a brief glimpse of the strong, compassionate leader she has come to know.

When Carson returns bearing a syringe, Sheppard's eyes have closed again and Teyla is brushing the sweat-damp hair back from his brow. The Colonel continues to shiver and tremble, his hand squeezing Teyla's with each tremor.

Carson swabs the IV port and slowly pushes a dose of pain medication into Sheppard's IV, watching carefully for the Colonel's reaction. Sheppard's shivering continues, his breathing rapid, but slowly and surely his body relaxes, a barely-noticed tension seeping from his muscles.

"Aches and pains are common with fevers," Carson explains, "particularly headaches and joint pain." He shakes his head, mildly annoyed at himself, "I should have suspected something, knowing the Colonel's propensity for keeping these things to himself."

Teyla smiles up at the gentle Scotsman. "You could not have known anything was amiss," she reassures him, "the Colonel is well-practised at hiding his pain."

She glanced down at the her sleeping team leader. His hand is now limp and relaxed in hers and she gives it a gentle squeeze before sliding her hand free. She is surprised to see the hint of a smile flit across Sheppard's face before she turns back to Carson. "I believe he does not wish to be seen to complain," she smiles ruefully.

Beckett nods and instinctively extends a hand as she makes to rise from the chair. She accepts gracefully and stands, stretching out muscles gone stiff after a couple of hours sat in one position.

"I may have some more information about the Colonel's condition," she informs Carson seriously as he makes to return to his notes and test results. The doctor stops in his tracks.

"Really? Did the Colonel say something to you?"

She nods. "He said he caught his pants on something in the ruins we explored during our last mission."

She can't help but smile as Carson all but claps his hands in delight. "Teyla, my dear, that may be the very answer we need! My test results haven't been able to pin down this bacteria but a sample from the planet would allow us to target the infection with the right antibiotics!"

Teyla needs no more encouragement than that. "I will get Ronon and Dr McKay. We will leave at once."

She leaves Carson to care for Colonel Sheppard and goes to find her team-mates – at last there is something they can do the help the Colonel.


	6. Ronon

Carson is practically waiting for them at the infirmary door when the team returns from PM4-77G. He all but snatches the sample containers from McKay and, with a distracted thank you, is gone, bearing his precious cargo away to the labs to run his tests. Ronon stands at the foot of Sheppard's bed, hanging back as Teyla and McKay hover over the Colonel, questioning the duty nurse about his condition. Ronon doesn't ask any questions. He can see for himself that Sheppard looks worse. His cheeks are flushed, bright with colour, and the shivering is constant now, the sheets twisted around Sheppard's body from his restless movements.

Ronon tunes back in to the conversation as he hears McKay berating the nurse over the fact that Sheppard is in restraints. The soft straps of black fabric are wrapped around Sheppard's wrists, pinning his arms to the rails at the side of the infirmary bed. Even as Ronon watches, Sheppard twists uncomfortably in his half-sleep, muscles straining in his forearms as he pulls against the restraints. The nurse's voice is apologetic but firm as she assures McKay that the restraints are necessary. Ronon is inclined to agree. Even semi-conscious Sheppard looks agitated and Ronon can see the extra dressings on his hands and arms where IVs used to be. From the look of things Sheppard has pulled out at least two IVs while his team was off-world.

The infirmary makes Ronon restless. He knows Beckett is a good doctor. Seven years on the run taught Ronon not to trust people, a hard-won lesson that he is only slowly overcoming, but he freely acknowledges that owes the Lantean's mild-mannered healer a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid – without Beckett's surgical skills, Ronon would still be a runner, still fleeing and fighting the Wraith across the galaxy in a never-ending battle for his life. Either that, or he'd be dead already. Nevertheless, seven years of instincts are hard to overcome and illness makes Ronon uneasy. Illness for a runner means death. It's as simple as that. If you're not well enough to run and to fight then it's all over.

Sheppard's illness is a runner's worst nightmare. An unnoticed injury, the barest scratch, leading to an incapacitating infection. Ronon knows all about the dangers of infection. His military training on Sateda was thorough and included the basics of field medicine. Seven years on the run has only heightened his survival skills. The clothing he has picked up in the course of his travels through the galaxy is a mismatched hodge-podge of items, stripped from Wraith he had killed, stolen from villages he had passed by, but the leather pants he habitually wears are eminently practical.

Ronon had checked Sheppard's quarters before the team had returned to PM4-77G. In the laundry pile he'd found the BDUs Sheppard had worn on their last mission and, sure enough, there was a tiny, hardly noticeable tear in the fabric, corresponding exactly to the location of the scratch on Sheppard's leg. Sheppard had probably not even felt the injury. According to Teyla, Sheppard remembered only catching his pant leg on something in the ruins. He'd obviously torn the fabric in pulling free, unaware that he'd caught anything more than his pants. The BDUs were made from sturdy material, designed to be hard-wearing and practical. But the sturdiest fabric can still catch and rip. Leather doesn't rip. Any damage that can cut through leather is something you're gonna notice straight away.

They'd spent a good couple of hours on the planet, retracing their route through the ruins they'd explored only three days previously. It has been a slow and painstaking process, all three of them searching the ruins for any protrusions, anything sharp that Sheppard could possibly have cut himself on, with McKay taking samples from every possibility. Ronon's skills at tracking had served them well and it had been he who had spotted the couple of tiny grey threads caught on a rusted piece of metal at about calf height. Confident that they'd found their culprit, they'd returned to Atlantis with their collection of samples.

Ronon watches Sheppard shiver and moan with a clinical eye. It's obvious that the Colonel's condition is deteriorating. His fever still rages, unchecked by Beckett's medications, the infection burning him up from the inside. He sees the fear and worry on his team mates' faces as they linger around the bed and wonders how long Beckett's tests will take. He hates waiting like this. There is nothing he can do here, nothing that can help Sheppard. Going through the gate he had felt a sense of purpose; he had a goal, a task he could perform that would help heal Sheppard. He has performed that task to the best of his ability and now there is once again nothing to do but wait. He hates waiting.

McKay gives a shout of alarm, jumping back in surprise as Sheppard suddenly sits bolt upright in his bed. His eyes are open, glassy and unfocused, staring at nothing, his fists clenched as he strains at the restraints. His breathing is a rapid panting, too quick, too shallow. He seems unaware of his surroundings, pulling almost unconsciously at the restraints, his lips moving as he mumbles something nonsensical.

"Colonel Sheppard?" McKay's voice wavers as he peers into Sheppard's face, uncertainty evident in his hesitant manner. Waste of time, Ronon thinks. Sheppard may be awake but he's not aware. Not of them anyway. His eyes stare past Ronon, focused on something only he can see. A frown creases his face and he begins to pull at the restraints in earnest. Somewhere in his fevered brain he realises he's tied up and he's not happy about it. He's getting agitated and the nurse decides to intervene, laying a hand on his shoulder to encourage him to lay back down.

Her touch has the opposite effect; Sheppard flinches away from her hand and begins to struggle furiously, his face twisted in anger.

"No!"

Heads turn across the room as Sheppard shouts angrily.

"Don't! Leave him alone!" The is pain and anguish laced in with the anger in Sheppard's voice. Whatever he is seeing, it's not pleasant. The nurse tries to calm him down but he is oblivious to her voice, lost in his own world of fever dreams, and he's too strong for her to hold him still. McKay is frozen in shock, stunned at this display of emotion from the usually reserved Sheppard, and Teyla is trying to help the nurse soothe the agitated man. Sheppard is rigid, his muscles tensed as he fights the hands trying to push him back onto the bed. He pulls and jerks at the restraints and even the soft fabric straps will soon begin to abrade the skin of his wrists if he continues like this.

"What's going on here?" Beckett's voice is stern, his face betraying his shock at the chaos taking place in his infirmary.

"He's hallucinating, Dr Beckett," the nurse gasps out, trying to hang on to her struggling patient. "He's awake but non-responsive. He became agitated and we can't calm him down."

Sheppard screams, the sound raw and ugly, and only Ronon hears the sudden ripping noise almost lost in the din. He steps forward quickly, moving with the lithe grace of well-oiled reflexes, and grabs hold of Sheppard's wrist before he can pull his arm away. Ronon is dimly aware of the shocked exclamations from the others as he uses his strength to push Sheppard forcibly down onto the bed, pinning his shoulders down with one arm, his hand still tight around Sheppard's wrist. The Colonel bucks and struggles and Ronon hears Beckett issuing terse orders to his staff, his usually mild voice sharp and commanding, "3mg Ativan, stat!"

His face is close to Sheppard's as he leans heavily over him, using his weight to keep him pinned to the bed. The Colonel's face is flushed, his eyes glittering with the brightness of fever. He looks through Ronon, seeing only shades and ghosts from his own mind, shouting and fighting with a strength born of desperation. The threat may be imagined but the pain and fear in Sheppard's eyes is all too real.

Ronon holds the struggling man down as Beckett carefully pushes a syringe into an IV port and injects the sedative. He keeps hold of Sheppard as his struggles wane, not letting go until he can feel the muscles relax, Sheppard's body going limp in his grip. His breathing is still rapid and shallow and his head tosses weakly on the pillow, eyelids beginning to droop over the glazed eyes.

His shouts have faded to an anguished mumble, Ronon close enough to make out the words – one word, over and over.

"Nononononononononono..."

Ronon leans back cautiously, relaxing his grip on Sheppard warily. The fight has gone out of him now, though shivering still wracks his body, twitching his limbs restlessly. Beckett's face is solemn as he carefully unwraps the torn remains of the soft strap from Sheppard's right wrist. The skin beneath is red and angry, a testament to the ferocity of Sheppard's struggles.

The Colonel is drowsy, hovering on the edge of unconsciousness. He seems to be fighting the sedative, his eyes fluttering open momentarily before closing again. His lips move soundlessly and Ronon leans forward to hear, Sheppard's voice a mere whisper.

"Please don't..."

Ronon turns to see shock and dismay on the faces of his team-mates. Though he doesn't show it, he can't help but share their fears. He's seen comrades taken by fever during his soldiering days, men thrashing and screaming just like Sheppard.. right up until they died. The same question is on all of their minds as they look to Dr Beckett.

The doctor's face is grave but his voice is firm, reassuring. "We'll have the test results within the hour. Once we can start him on a targeted antibiotic he'll do much better."

Ronon can't help but wonder if Beckett is trying to convince them.. or himself.


	7. Waking up

"Colonel Sheppard? Can you hear me, son?"

"Why isn't he waking up?"

"Give him time, Rodney. He's had a pretty tiring time of it."

He's drifting. Voices float in the darkness but they are distant, disconnected. He sinks into silence.

* * *

"Carson. How is he?"

"Still sleeping, Elizabeth love."

"Is that normal?"

"He's exhausted, love. His body's been through a lot, it needs time to recover."

Carson. Elizabeth. He knows those names. Their words wrap around him and he feels safe. He sleeps.

* * *

"He still sleeping?"

"Yes. But Dr Beckett says that he should wake soon."

"You gonna sit there till he does?"

"I will let you know when he awakes, Ronon."

"Okay... thanks Teyla."

The voices jumble and overlap in the darkness. He feels so heavy. He lets himself slide into the dark.

* * *

"Colonel Sheppard? Come on now, son. Time to wake up."

The words slice into the comfortable darkness and the lilting accent conjures up a name. Carson. Dr Carson Beckett.

"Can you hear me, Colonel? I need you to wake up now."

The voice is insistent, chasing away the darkness, not letting him slip back into sleep. He grumbles, wants to be left alone.

"Sorry, Colonel. I can't do that. Come on now, open your eyes for me."

He moans and tries to turn his head away from the nagging voice. He's so tired. His head feels heavy.

"John. You need to wake up now."

The voice has changed now from cajoling, encouraging, to serious. It reminds him that he is needed, he has responsibilities. Much as he would like to escape into the warm darkness, it's a luxury he can't afford. His eyelids flutter as he opens his eyes. It takes more effort than he expected. His vision is blurry for a moment as he blinks groggily but then Carson's face comes into focus. The doctor is standing over him, a wide smile on his face as he watches John wake.

"Welcome back, Colonel. How do you feel?"

Sheppard takes a moment to review before answering that one. His body feels heavy, generally achy, and the view over Carson's shoulder brings the realisation that he's in the infirmary. Memory begins to filter through; he remembers the morning meeting, Elizabeth's concern, feeling dizzy. After that it all gets a bit vague. He recalls feeling cold, very cold and for some reason he thinks of Teyla's soft voice and a smile on her face.

"I'm good." His voice is dry and cracked and Carson reaches behind him and lifts the bed slightly, propping John up into a reclining position. The doctor's smile has morphed into a rather frustrated expression that Sheppard has come to know well. Beckett sighs as he reaches for a cup of water.

"The truth now, Colonel. If you don't tell me how you're feeling, I can't treat you properly," he fixes John with a stern look and lays down his trump card, "and the longer it'll be before you get cleared for active duty."

He brings the cup of water to John's lips and tips it carefully, allowing a trickle of water to flow into John's mouth. His sips carefully, the cool water sliding down his parched throat. He closes his eyes as he swallows. It feels wonderful. When he opens his eyes Carson is regarding him with an expectant look. John sighs.

"Feel tired," he admits, his voice stronger now, "really tired. And kinda achy."

"Painful anywhere in particular?" Carson is all business now, pulling out the ubiquitous pen flashlight and checking John's pupil reactions as he questions him. Sheppard grimaces the bright light, blinking away glowing afterimages as Beckett holds the digital thermometer in his ear.

"Not really," he mumbles, "just generally achy all over."

The thermometer beeps and John sees a look of satisfaction on Carson's face as he checks the readout.

"How'm I doing, doc?"

Carson's smile crinkles the skin at the corners of his eyes and Sheppard realises belatedly that the man looks exhausted.

"You're doing just fine, Colonel. Your temperature is back down to normal and the infection is responding well to the IV antibiotics."

John rolls his head on the pillow to look at his arms, noting the multiple IVs taped securely in place. Now that he's paying attention, a further sensation makes itself known amongst the general achiness and John realises he's also the proud owner of a urinary catheter. He grimaces, then turns his attention back to Beckett as the man's words filter through his sluggish brain.

"Infection?"

"Aye, Colonel. You've had quite the adventure recently. You've had us all quite worried." Carson's voice takes on that lecturing tone again as he continues, "And in future, I'd appreciate it if you'd come and tell me you're not feeling well _before_ you keel over in the corridors."

John squints up at Beckett, hoping he's just being teased. "I passed out? Really?"

Carson can't help a slightly malicious grin at Sheppard's obvious discomfort. "You _fainted_, Colonel, right outside the conference room. Gave the staff in the control room quite the show."

Sheppard closes his eyes with a groan. This just gets better and better. Fatigue pulls at him, making him drowsy; he feels like he could sleep for a week. His eyes fly open again as a thought occurs to him. "How long have I been out?"

"Three days."

"Three _days_!"

"You'd picked up a very nasty bacterial infection, Colonel. You were running a high fever and were disoriented and delusional."

Sheppard's gut tightens at that. Delusional? That sure doesn't sound good. A vague half-formed memory takes him by surprise and he screws his eyes shut, frowning at the recollection.

"We had to sedate you, I'm afraid." Carson's voice is gentle, tinged with a sympathy that Sheppard doesn't want. He opens his eyes defiantly, pushing the memory away, as Beckett continues his explanation.

"The infection wasn't responding to broad spectrum antibiotics and our tests couldn't pin down the bacteria. It wasn't until we got a sample from the planet that we could correctly identify the bacteria and prescribe a targeted antibiotic. It took a while for your temperature to come down but the treatment is working well. You should be back on your feet in no time."

John's mind focuses on a particular phrase in amongst all the medical information. "Sample from the planet?" He still feels kinda groggy, struggling to make sense of all that has happened. It's a damn weird feeling to know he's missed three whole days. Three days gone by and he has only a handful of vague memories to show for it.

"PM4-77G, Colonel. It seems you scratched your leg on a rusty piece of metal whilst exploring the ruins there."

Sheppard has a sudden recollection of Teyla asking him something about.. he frowns, trying to pin the memory down.. something about a scratch on his leg?

"Caught my pants on something.." he murmurs distractedly.

"Aye, that's it. Your team went back to the planet and took samples. They probably saved your life."

John's starting to drift now, the effort of conversation has sapped what little energy he had and it's becoming a struggle to keep his eyes open. He's vaguely aware of Beckett's voice growing quieter, moving away from the bed as he continues, "Speaking of which..."

Carson's voice fades into silence and John focuses on his surroundings enough to realise that he's alone. Beckett is gone. He's happy to let himself drift back to sleep when a babble of voices disturbs him. He smiles drowsily. He can pick out Rodney's strident tones immediately, the scientist apparently part way through berating Beckett for keeping them all waiting for so long. Them all?

He opens his eyes in time to see Beckett lead Rodney, Teyla, Ronon and Elizabeth into view. His team-mates gather around the bed, grins plastered across every face. Even Rodney breaks off his tirade to smile delightedly at finding Sheppard awake.

"Hey guys.." He's surprised to find his voice slightly slurred. He can't keep his eyes from closing, jerking into wakefulness again at Rodney's accusing question to Carson.

"Have you been drugging him again?"

"No, Rodney, he's exhausted. It's only to be expected." John can hear the strained patience in Carson's voice and wonders sleepily just how much McKay has been bugging Dr Beckett during the past three days.

"He needs rest and plenty of it. Providing he does as he's told," John isn't too groggy to miss that pointed comment thrown in for his benefit, "he'll be back on his feet before you know it."

Teyla and Elizabeth are hovering round the bed, the smiles on their faces speaking to the relief of letting go of days worth of worry. Worry over him. John hates that he's caused them concern. He hates feeling weak and helpless like this.

"How are you feeling, John?"

"I'm good."

He sees Elizabeth share a quiet, rueful smile with Teyla and realises they're on to him. Over to his left Rodney is continuing to gripe at Beckett, expressing how unfair it is of Carson to tire the Colonel out before his friends have chance to talk to him. Ronon stands at the foot of the bed, as talkative as ever, the grin on his face making words unnecessary.

John can't help the drowsy smile that curves his lips. He can feel sleep tugging at him, his exhausted body losing the fight to stay conscious. But that's okay. His team are here. They've got his back. It's John's job to protect Atlantis, to be responsible for the safety of everyone on this base, including his team. But sometimes, he realises, it's okay for them to be the ones protecting him.

John Sheppard sleeps.

* * *

_Fin..._


End file.
